Leaving You
by MBallyntyne
Summary: Skeeter is leaving for college. A short prequel to the book.


This is a prequel I wrote once upon a time. I don't own The Help, it belongs to the amazing Kathryn Stockett. Enjoy!

* * *

"I just … I can't believe you're actually leaving to Ole Miss." Elizabeth Leefolt stands on the front porch of her new pastel-coloured house, arms wrapped around her middle as if to hold tight to her stampeding emotions. The Good Wife's Guide would not be pleased to see such a posture in a young, married lady.

Hilly Holbrook puts an arm around her and pulls her into a side-hug.

"I know, but she'll be coming back soon to visit, won't you, Skeeter?"

"Yeah, definitely," I say enthusiastically. I can feel my curly hair bouncing as I hasten to convey my intent to return. As much as I am excited about going to college I will miss these two. My best friends.

"Maybe even with a husband," Hilly adds slyly, eying me up as if to judge just who would marry such a blunt, stubborn … independent woman with a soon-to-be college education.

I wave a hand as if to say it is inconsequential but Hilly is already starting to go through her list of unmarried men.

"I mean, there's always James, Jolene's brother. You know, that little tag-along. Or what about William's cousin, Stuart?" There is still the sting of sweetness when Hilly says her husband's name. It has been a year since they met. Since Hilly got over Johnny.

I chuckle inwardly.

"Stuart's got a girlfriend, Hilly."

The pretty brunette purses her lips and frowned slightly but, "Yes, well," is all she says.

Elizabeth, quivering off to the side like a small bird, finally leaps forward and encircles me in her thin arms.

Over her shoulder I can see Hilly looking a little miffed as she recovers from being jostled, her hand straying protectively to her swollen middle.

"I'm going to miss you so much," cries Elizabeth, retracting one hand to wipe messily at her eyes.

"We're going to miss you," Hilly corrects, joining the farewell with a gentle hand on my arm. "Are you sure you can't stay for just one more day? I could always convince Sophie to use the Junior League Hall for some sort of farewell party."

I am already shaking my head before she finishes.

"Hilly, you know why I can't. The deadline is in two days." Elizabeth's arms return to their previous self-comforting position as if they have a mind of their own, effectively ending the hug. I wonder if it is because of her lack of a baby bump or because she is already missing me that she feels the need to stand in such a position.

"You will visit, right?" Her voice holds a flicker of uncertainty.

"Yeah, definitely," I repeat patiently. "I'll come back when the baby is born."

"Are you all packed?"

"I finished before coming here. It's all in the trunk." The gleaming Cadillac convertible sits placidly beside the curb, waiting patiently for the goodbyes to end while its seats bake in the hot sun. It had taken me a week to persuade Mama to let me drive it to Ole Miss.

Hilly checks her watch.

"I've got to go to the doctors in a few minutes," she says, smiling in an effort to break the sudden silence. There is a pause and then Hilly's jaw moves slightly, as if she wants to say something but is savoring it first, just in case it is unpalatable. I brace myself.

"Skeeter," she says hesitantly, "are you sure this is what you want? I mean, you have a good life here. All you need is a husband. You don't have to go to college. Why leave this good life behind?"

The muscles in my shoulders tighten.

"Hilly, I've already been over this with Mama. I want to see the world. I want to write. I want to change people. I _want_ to go."

"If you're decided then." Hilly moves backwards to the window of the house, folding her arms.

"Well … goodbye."

I take two steps backwards, stumbling slightly on the porch steps while I try to keep both of my friends in my line of sight. I am going to miss them so much. Unfortunately I want to go to college more. It isn't like I'm not coming back.

I find I can no longer look at them.

A sudden movement from the kitchen window catches my wandering attention. Aibileen, Elizabeth's new maid, stands washing the dishes. As if she can feel my hot gaze burning a hole in her wig, she looks up. Her lips press together in surprise and slight disapproval that a white lady is so blatantly staring at her.

I am struck in that movement by how old she looks. Not Constantine's kind of old, the kind where the spoon holding the peas starts to shake and she can no longer reach the top cupboard. But the weary kind of old. Tired of whatever life has put her through.

I wave. After a moment's hesitation, Aibileen raises her hand. No wave, just an acknowledgement of the rather unusual white lady standing in her employer's front yard.

I grin at the two flowery-dressed ladies standing outside the immaculate house as I open the car door.

Within a minute all that is left of my presence in this growing neighborhood is a cloud of Mississippi road dust wafting in my wake.


End file.
